“Look there”

A man stood before me, holding a small cup in his left hand. He had a beard of sandpaper stubble, overlooked by his disproportionately large eyes. The corner of his gray windbreaker brushed my arm. He nodded to my left.
I followed his eyes passed the bits of dust that lingered between him and the glass panes, and out to the chipped sidewalk where a young boy rode his tricycle. The boy’s hair flickered in the sun as he pushed his tires over the cracks. Tails of a blue collar shirt flapped behind him, toward a second boy who was older and more rugged than the first. There were small tears in his jeans and well-woven scars half hidden by a dirt-white t-shirt. The sun did not approve of this child, and his hair stayed dull beneath the open sky as he casually petaled on his bicycle behind the other boy.
“What’s different about those 2 kids?” He looked to me now as he took a seat on the broken booth across from me, refusing to let my focus wander. He took a small sip from his cup and rested it back on a saucer, stained from thousands of coffee drinkers before him.
My response was cautious.
“One of them’s older and the other is well dressed.”
“You’re missing the bigger picture.” His mouth cracked wide and his stare grew intense and curious.
“The bikes? There is a tricycle and a bicycle.”
“Mhm.” His grin blossomed. “I’d say they differ by attire.”

My eyes opened as pain struck through my chest. The Punisher. The name had stuck with me from last week’s news story. My eyes darted throughout the café. A couple had gathered their things and briskly moved toward the door. A stale chime rang across the tables.
“You haven’t touched your coffee.”  The cup sat before me, trembling before the haunting glare of the man across from me. I held the unfortunate porcelain close to me. My face twisted as my lips touched a cold and grainy liquid.
“My reaction was a little harsher than yours. I thought it tasted like mud.” He took an exaggerated breath. I stared at him and dared not to move an inch.
Fireworks flashed within the light in his eyes.
“Because it was ground a couple minutes ago.”

I jumped from my chair and sprinted toward the door. Not three steps later agony spread throughout my limbs, originating in my right shoulder. I crumbled to the floor where a puddle of blood met me. A small, throwing hatchet was lodged in my back, making the crawl towards freedom all the more painful. The Punisher walked over and pulled his weapon from me, replacing it with his heavy foot that drove me into the floor tiles.
“You’ve been a great victim.”
I turned my head enough to see a raised arm and a flash of reflected light off the blade.
“At least your death wasn’t an axe-ident.”